He halted in the wind, and, what was that Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost? He stood there bringing March against his thought, And yet too ready to believe the most. Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said; And truly it was fair enough for flowers had we but in us to assume in march Such white luxuriance of May for ours. We stood a moment so in a strange world, Myself as one his own pretense deceives; And then I said the truth (and we moved on). A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WATCH OF A SWAN by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT TIMES GO BY TURNS by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THE ADIEU, TO A FRIEND LEAVING SUFFOLK by BERNARD BARTON THE STORM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN FEATHERSTONHAUGH by BARCROFT HENRY BOAKE EXTRACTS FROM NEW-YEAR'S VERSES FOR 1825 by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD A PRAIRIE MOTHER'S LULLABY by EARL ALONZO BRININSTOOL |